Lex Tertia
by carcharodon
Summary: The action always equals the reaction, or the actions of two bodies onto each other are always of equal magnitude and of opposite direction. [probably a little bit of H/C coming up, probably some kind of relationship as well]
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

His brain felt sluggish, annoyingly uncooperative. He knew he should be able to identify the familiar sounds around him, yet everything seemed just beyond the grasp of recognition. The beeps of some machine (but which?), the rising and falling murmur of voices (but whose?), the steady background hum of some system (transport? climatic? monitoring? imaging?). He had to fight the reflexive need to open his eyes to get answers, but aside from the fact that he could not be sure whether his vision would work at all, some persistently nagging inner voice told him not to betray his wakefulness. To who or whatever might be observing.

He didn't even consider not following that intuitive instruction. Although he knew he would not be able to fool their monitoring instruments for very long.

To keep his mental activity as low as possible, he focused on his physical functions. In the first minutes after his awakening, neither his lungs nor his ribcage had seemed to work at all, both having felt utterly inflexible and constrained, but now breathing was becoming easier with every time he inhaled. His heartbeat, which had initially slammed against the inner walls of his skull with alarming force and frequency, seemed to be gradually settling. As was the unpleasant prickling of his skin that had run up and down the entire length of his body. The searing stings that were piercing mainly his long muscles had not eased, though, and his tongue and mouth still felt numb and severely swollen. Swallowing was downright painful and the lump of mucus clogging his throat required all the discipline of his still torpid mind in order to quell the threatening urge to cough.

But he managed. Of course he managed. Perfectly motionless, he listened to the blood rushing in his ears, sensed it pulsing through arteries and veins, reveled in the painful reviving of nerves and muscles. Savored how, with every heartbeat and every deepening breath, he became more and more alive.

* * *

"…obviously got the sequence right. His vitals are stable and there is no reason why he shouldn't be awakened. I can…"

"No, Doctor. An abrupt and disconnected return consciousness is the last thing we want. Nobody can say how he will react as soon as he wakes and we have no idea of what he recalls. We need him as cooperative as possible, so let's make this as gentle as we can."

"With all due respect, Admiral, a gentle treatment is the very last thing this man deserves and I'd sleep much easier if we didn't need him at all."

"Your…assessment of the situation as well as your concern is appreciated. Still the issue is not open for discussion."

"Sir, a discussion is a verbal involvement taking place when there is more than one possible opinion on a subject."

"And the opinion of Star Fleet command on this particular subject is clear and irrevocable, Doctor, your very explicit disagreement notwithstanding."

"Sir. Yes, sir. We'll refrain from any further medical support then, but will proceed monitoring and sustaining the…individual until he regains full consciousness by himself. In which case I will alert you immediately."

"Very well. I await your report."

"Admiral."

Two voices, one of them he was sure he should know. A set of retreating footfalls, clipped and purposeful. The swish of an opening and closing door. Someone fussing over him, moving some device across and along his body, most likely a medicorder, if the soft buzzing and chirping was anything to go by. Something cool made contact with the right side of his neck and was immediately followed by the hissing sound of an emptying hyposyringe. He sensed a presence hovering over him, invading his personal space in a way they would not have dared had they known he was fully awake and aware. In a way he himself found surprisingly difficult to tolerate. It worried him a little, the rapidly growing, itching aggressiveness he felt due to the ongoing but unwanted proximity. This evident lack of emotional self-control was not something he was used to, and it would most certainly not serve him well during whatever was about to come. Willing his subconscious to settle down with more effort than he would have preferred, he made a firm mental note not to underestimate his obvious (and hopefully only temporary) mental depletion. The possible consequences might be severe and he had watched too many go down because of imprudent overconfidence. An unacceptable mistake he would most certainly not make.

When the presence above him finally withdrew and the vaguely familiar voice rang out again, he could tell that this time it was directed away from him.

"The readings indicate that on a physical level, he is fully functional already. Regarding what this man is capable of, it bothers me a little that he is still out, to be honest. We have not the slightest idea of what will actually happen when he wakes, since Admiral Marcus did not keep any records the first time he revived him. He'll probably try to jump you the moment he realizes he can move."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory was triggered.

Oh yes. He knew that voice.

"We'll keep him under constant and close observation, Doctor."

"You do that. It still doesn't reassure me much, no offence…And don't rely too much on your phasers. You've been told that stunning doesn't work on this guy as it does on mere humans, right?"

"We've been fully briefed on the individual's exceptional physical characteristics, Doctor."

" 'Exceptional physical characteristics' " A snort. "That's certainly one way to put it. A weapon of mass destruction disguised as a human being, but without even a grain of conscience in his lethally brilliant mind, that's what this man is. I wouldn't put it past him to break right through that security barrier without sustaining any critical damage whatsoever."

"We've been told that security barriers restrained him perfectly well while under arrest on the Enterprise."

"The fact that we've not yet been seeing him doing it doesn't mean he's not able to."

"Doctor…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. All that desperate times calling for desperate measures-nonsense." The sounds of putting away instruments, of rearranging others on some surface. "It's too late now anyway, the thing is done and here's to hope that we haven't made the situation worse by adding a megalomaniac, virtually indestructible terrorist to the mix."

No answer. Footsteps directed away from him, less noisy and more measured than those before. The door again, opening, closing.

Silence.

But not within his mind, which was already considering and discarding countless options while the latest pieces of information were still falling neatly into place. Completing the not altogether delightful picture that had begun to form ever since his brain had jump-started again.

A Star Fleet medical sector it was, then. Judging from what he had just heard, he was currently located behind a security barrier with additional guards positioned at some door. Which, according to the direction of voices and departing footfalls, was behind him to his left. In his still weakened state a detail not necessarily relevant on a short-term basis, but he liked to have a concept of his surroundings all the same. One never knew.

The fact that it was Doctor McCoy in charge of his revival suggested that at the most a few decades had passed since Star Fleet had put him back to cryosleep. The detached way in which the Enterprise was mentioned indicated further that they were not on board that particular ship. He hadn't sensed any motion so far anyway, meaning that this room was probably not even located on any starship at all. Still, wherever it was they actually were (a planet? Earth?), McCoy was here, so either he had quit, had been transferred – or had been especially assigned for this very job. Considering that among the living, McCoy was the one with the most profound medical insight where he was concerned, the doctor's presence certainly made sense. And implied that, based on their exclusive experience in dealing with him, he would probably have the chance to renew his acquaintance with other crew members of the Enterprise as well at a later stage of…whatever this was.

Which brought him to the one answer that still eluded him, though it was the most crucial: Why was he here at all, breathing, thinking, feeling?

He did not delude himself into hoping that there may be any other reason but the same old why, and the conversation he had just witnessed confirmed that: They had brought him back again because they needed him. They needed his abilities, his skills, his cooperation, would try to instrumentalize him once more to fulfill their wants. Considering the results of Star Fleet's first attempt to exploit who and what he was, he was truly and utterly surprised. The situation at hand must be dire indeed and the decision to wake him had surely neither been easy, nor one all of Starfleet approved, judging by McCoy's comments and that unknown Admiral's reaction. A factor that could probably be put to use, if the right opportunity presented itself.

_Used to achieve what, exactly_?

He silenced the bitter inner voice immediately, resolutely closing his mind against that particular and most dangerous path of thought. He would not let himself go there. Allowing the loss to surface would ultimately render him unable to function. He could not free himself from the dull ache that pulsed around the emptiness where once seventy-two souls had been the center of his motivation, but he could (and had to) suppress it until the time to grieve had come.

With one last fierce inner jolt, he pulled free from the threatening grip of sorrow and refocused on his present status. They had had him at a serious disadvantage, throwing him into a time, place and situation he knew virtually nothing about. Exaggerating his still slightly insufficient state of mind had bought him some time to collect information and recover to an acceptable mental and physical condition (albeit not at all up to his usual standards). It had been his only chance to prevent them from completely forcing their game on him.

A lesson he had learned from his dealings with Admiral Marcus.

But the ploy had now come to the end of its benefit. Waiting any longer would not yield anything more valuable, but force him to further keep his mental functions down as much as possible to avoid detection. It would prevent him from being able to thoroughly analyze his present situation, from completely regaining his physical and mental abilities. It was essential to be able to move. It was essential to be able to think further. It was essential to know and to assess his options.

The call for stalling was over. Time to enter the field.

Khan Noonien Singh opened his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

"Admiral Santiago, Doctor McCoy on a safe internal channel."

"Yes, thank you, commander. Put him through." Admiral Santiago closed the audio channel, paused to look at the other twelve Star Fleet officers at the conference table, nodded once in the general direction of everybody and engaged the visual communication screen that covered a good part of one of the room's walls. "Doctor. Good to hear from you."

"Admiral, I'm aware that it's quite late already…"

Santiago gave the tiniest shake of his head, along with an equally small smile. "There is no need for excuses, doctor McCoy. Who better to know than you that in times like these, there is no such thing as regular working hours. You have actually chosen a very appropriate moment, as the entire task force is gathered here right now." Leaning back in his chair, he fixed the man onscreen with a scrutinizing stare, noticed the signs of fatigue carved into a pale face. No, he decided with an inward sigh. No regular working hours for anyone these days. "You have news for us?"

"Yes sir, I have. He…he's awake, lucid and in alarmingly sound physical shape after five and a half years of cryosleep. Precise reflexive responses, faultless perceptiveness and meticulous speaking abilities."

Admiral Santiago leant forward. "He talked to you."

"Avoiding that was hardly possible." Expression hardening, McCoy glanced down at the data screen in his hands that gave some audio signal and silenced it with a few swift movements before he met Santiago's eyes again. "Recognized me, addressed me correctly, title and name – and then gave me a complete synopsis of his current medical condition, the cocky bastard. Which, on top of it all, was correct down to the last muscular hypoxia."

With a short nod, Santiago acknowledged the low murmur this information gave rise to in the room. "So he remembers you – and most likely everything else that happened almost six years ago." Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure yet whether that's good or bad news. Did he try to attack you?"

"No, sir."

"Did he threaten you in any way?"

"No, sir. He was all calm aloofness with an annoying amount of arrogance... which certainly just *could* be his default communication mode."

The Admiral's glance turned cool. "But you don't think so."

"No sir, I don't." McCoy hesitated. "Sir, this only rests upon intuition and I have not the slightest evidence that…"

"Doctor, your intuitions are the reason why you and some of your crew members of the Enterprise were brought in on this. Your suspicions where Khan Noonien Singh is concerned are more founded than anything we think we know about him. Please go on."

Still looking slightly uncomfortable, McCoy nodded. "I think that he is fully aware of the general nature of the situation. He may not know exactly what it is we need him for, but he does know that we need him. The fact alone that we did wake him at all after the last time he ran free tells him enough. From where he is sitting, we are nothing but suppliants. And I'm also quite sure he doesn't even consider to comply."

"What makes you think that, Doctor?"

"I can't tell you precisely." Frustration colored McCoy's words. "It was his tone of voice, his entire behavior. All of it felt like when I met him first on the Enterprise, when he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly what he had to do to achieve it. Now it feels like he is just as completely positive and adamant about what he *doesn't* want and won't do, and he displays it down to the way he turns his head to give better access to a hyposyringe. And all of this deliberate non-verbal communication was solely for my benefit, because he knew I would read it correctly. Because he wanted me to know that he knows and tell me at the same time that we won't get what we need from him."

Admiral Santiago nodded. "So he is already back to playing games. Well, we have no time for this nonsense. I have a feeling that when we'll have pointed out to him that, no matter how desperate our situation may be, we do have the means of exerting pressure and will not hesitate to do so, his attitude might change. What is his current status, Doctor?"

"He was transferred to a holding cell on level seventeen, to which he put up no resistance at all. His last medical readings, which I took about fifteen minutes ago, were within absolutely normal limits. He was offered small amounts of light food and beverages which he both ingested and was able to keep down. From a medical point of view, he is perfectly fine. And as much as it pains me to say so as a doctor, sir, I freely admit that I'm not happy about that."

This time, Santiago's smile was clearly visible. "I don't think anyone here will hold that against you, Doctor McCoy. We are all aware of the strain this additional assignment has put on you and very grateful you took it on anyway, your personal history with Khan notwithstanding." The Admiral rose, indicating that the conversation was coming to an end. "Please keep monitoring his condition. We will pay him a first visit tomorrow and, depending on the results, we might have to impose on you again regarding the further arrangements that may be in order to…convince him."

It was impossible to miss the twitch that rippled over McCoy's face. "With all due respect, sir, I have to repeat my categorical objection to that particular step and I don't think…"

"I assure you that no one in this room is very keen on executing this 'particular step'." Santiago interrupted in a slightly warning tone of voice. "From what you are telling us, though, he might leave us very little choice. I don't have to remind you of all people of the hopeless situation we are facing here. I also don't have to tell you that neither the consulted terrestrial nor extraterrestrial experts were able to find a solution so far. And, doctor, as you are probably more painfully aware of than anyone else: We are running out of time."

Putting both of his hands firmly on the conference table, Santiago leant forward to let his eyes bore into those of McCoy. "Khan Noonien Singh might actually be our very last chance. And if we have to bend the ethical and moral standards of the very population we endeavor to save, then so be it!"

Opposition in every line of his tired face, McCoy simply looked back.

"We rely on your cooperation, Doctor McCoy." Santiago's gaze softened. "Get some sleep. We will see you tomorrow on level seventeen, most likely sometime in the late morning. You'll be informed accordingly."

"Sir."

His hand already on its way to the control panel to end the transmission, the admiral paused.

"Doctor. I wonder, regarding your fierce rejection of the course of action High Command has decreed if necessary - have you told him that his crew is still alive?"

McCoy's jaw muscles worked furiously. Wordlessly, he held Santiago's gaze.

"*Have* you, Doctor?"

As McCoy closed his eyes in defeat, Santiago knew he had won this round. Along with the doctor's cooperation.

"No. No, sir, I haven't."

* * *

The annoying feeling of déjà vu had been nagging at him for hours. Sometimes he envied those with a brain that didn't allow more than a momentary flash of those maddening illusions of foresight. Then again, the time he had spent in holding cells ever since Star Fleet had gotten hold of him was quite notable - and since their look and feel hadn't much changed since the last time he had occupied one, the sense of recognition was easily explained.

Which didn't mean that he had grown used to feeling like the central piece of an exhibition: brightly illuminated, with no option of retreat whatsoever and the eyes of eight red-shirted guards on him all the time.

It also didn't mean that he liked it.

The waiting itself didn't bother him too much, though. With no need to deliberately keep down his cerebral activity anymore, he was finally able to actually think. And it wouldn't be long anymore before they would come for him anyway.

Or rather for whatever it was they wanted from him.

* * *

Something had changed.

Crossing the main level of Star Fleet Command, Commander Spock was well aware of how everything…*felt* different. He couldn't explain exactly what it was. The fact alone that he did sense it at all most certainly wasn't logical. Still, the strange sensation of an unaccountable disturbance rippled against his consciousness and he knew that it wasn't the result of the general pandemic panic. It went deeper. Also, it was the reason he was on his way to his captain at this very moment. And of course he was very aware of what had actually triggered this sense of a looming, not quite tangible threat.

Khan had been reported awake only an hour ago.

And as difficult as it had been for Spock to admit it to himself, this knowledge disturbed him far more than the apparently uncontrollable microorganism they were trying to fight.

Inwardly slightly shaking his head at himself, Spock passed through the decontamination sluice, exited the building and stepped onto the uncommonly deserted campus. The only individuals out and about were exclusively clad in uniform – most of them medical, some enforcement, a few Federation. The entire atmosphere was oppressive and the emptiness of the streets spoke volumes about the graveness of the situation. He knew that even now and only in San Francisco, thousands of people were dying, just as many were being informed of the fact that they were infected - and countless men, women and children were suffering any condition between those two extremes. All over Earth, the situation was just as grave and the death toll just as high. His Vulcan half considered this situation as absolutely unacceptable, yet they were not one step closer to developing a cure let alone a vaccine against the most aggressive and unfortunately most perfectly adapted pathogen in human history. As a Vulcan, he was not as susceptible to infection - thought he was by no means immune, there had already been a few extraterrestrial victims, among them two Vulcans - and due to his scientific expertise a logical choice for being appointed to the research team that was analysing the few samples they had been able to obtain of the microorganism so far, using theoretical as well as applied science approaches.

And though they'd been working day and night in two separate shifts for two months now, they had been defeated over and over again. No matter which enhanced antibiotic they came up with, the genetic equipment of the agent enabled it to counteract each of their attempts with a mutation within hours. It almost seemed too efficient to have evolved naturally – yet Spock was very aware that genetic selection was a most powerful force that definitely could produce the apparently perfect microorganism they were currently fighting.

That didn't help them with the fact that they were running out of options. And, even more important, they were running out of time as well. It was essential that they found a way to effectively fight and ultimately control this pandemic very, very soon. He himself had urged Star Fleet High Command to set absolutely all available levers in motion to do so. A course of action he now almost…regretted.

They had told him that it was the very last resort. They had reasoned how everything was different this time. Had justified the unthinkable by persuading themselves of the completely altruistic cause. Spock, however, did not care for noble motives or perfectly sound reasons. The only relevant thing, and in this case probably even more than in general, was the result.

And in his very firm opinion, the fact that Khan Noonien Singh was awake again, irrespective of the expertise he might be able to contribute, was not an end that justified any means whatsoever.

Breaking from his musings, Spock crossed one final deserted street and found himself standing at the door to the apartment complex where Captain Kirk was staying during their current terrestrial mission that had brought them back to Earth a little earlier than planned. He knew that Starfleet Command had offered them to remain onboard the Enterprise to minimize the risk of infection, but Kirk, McCoy and Spock had immediately declined. The doctor and he himself were too much involved in the attempts to gain control of the pandemic and would have been of no use to anyone by doing their work from a starship. And Kirk, being who he was, had outright refused to stay safe when two of his senior officers - and friends - were risking so much.

Perfectly illogical.

As he was most of the time.

Spock entered the tall building, endured the decontamination agent he was sprayed with in the only recently installed sluice and made his way to the turbo lift. The car smelled of desinfectants and a screen read several rules of conduct about how to act in private as well as public surroundings in order to avoid infection. Knowing how little effect this counsel had had so far, Spock deliberately glanced away from the brightly blinking lines.

He had not looked at them again when he left the lift on the 34th floor.

Kirk's apartment was at the end of the arched isle, nothing at the door indicating that one of the most illustrious captains of the entire fleet currently lived behind it. As Spock entered the radius of the surveillance system, he noted the soft chime that announced his presence inside. He had grown accustomed to the fact that due to his acute Vulcan sensory perception, he was constantly overexposed to sound, smell and sometimes even visual impressions that humans were simply not able to perceive.

Well. One most probably was.

The opening door did nothing to prevent his thoughts from fully returning to Khan. After all, he was the reason why Spock had decided to call on Kirk in the first place.

The man in question was waving one hand at him, signaling Spock to come inside, while he was holding his communicator with the other.

"…yes, Scotty, I heard you…I agree completely…yeah, do that, you know I have absolute confidence in you…yeah. Yeah, thank you. Thank you, Mr. Scott. Kirk out."

The captain's mildly irritated tone of voice was impossible to miss. With a slightly cocked head, Spock watched Kirk slamming his communicator shut with a clearly audible and exasperated sigh.

"Why is he doing that? He knows perfectly well that I only understand half of his warp-tech-speech about optimizations and modifications at the best of times." Kirk let the communicator clatter on the table beside him. "At the moment, I wouldn't trust myself with riding a ground car. Let alone making decisions about how to tease out a two percent increase in the Enterprise's warp core efficiency."

Spock took a few steps further into the room. "Do I assume correctly, then, that you have already been informed?"

Kirk lifted his eyes to him. There was no need to question what, or rather who, Spock was referring to.

"Bones told me half an hour ago."

The captain's temper at Mr. Scott's officiousness had already been a distinct sign. That Kirk used Dr. McCoy's nickname when talking about him to Spock of all people only confirmed how badly the captain had been shaken by the message about Kahn's revival. He could tell by Kirk's forced smile, though, that he tried to cope with the situation. That he tried hard.

"The first plan didn't work out, then?"

Spock shook his head. "Unfortunately, it didn't, Captain, all our high hopes notwithstanding. We cannot even tell why it failed. Still, after we had informed Star Fleet Command, it took only two hours before Khan's revival was enacted."

Kirk sighed. "I really thought I was able to take this more…I don't know, professionally?" Clearly exasperated with himself, the captain ran both hands through his hair. "It's been more than five years now, right? Still, the mere thought of him being awake gives me the creeps."

"If you are so severely affected by the situation, Captain, I think it would be advisable for you not to be included in the upcoming dealings with him." Spock paused. "No offence intended."

With a small laugh, Kirk began pacing the room. "None taken, Spock. Star Fleet has already decided on the lucky one who is to be his handler anyway, and, luckily, it's not me. As said person's captain, though, I was accordingly informed right after I'd learned about...well. Him being awake." Kirk stopped and turned, watching his first officer very closely. "They want you to work with him, Spock."

He had expected this. If he was being honest, he had known it from the very first time the idea of reviving Khan had been mentioned. "Considering that my experiences in dealing with Khan are probably among the most…intense, it is the…"

"The logical choice. Yeah, of course." Kirk interrupted. "In addition to that, it might have mattered that you are also the only one who probably commands a little respect from him."

Spock had already considered this and was not able to consent with it. "I seriously doubt that he will be intimidated by me at all, Captain. My presence will possibly make him more alert, in the worst case more aggressive and therefore more uncooperative than he will most likely be anyway." He knew that this was Jim Kirk and that therefore speaking his mind was no risk at all, still he hesitated for the fraction of a second. "Captain, I do not agree with the decision of Star Fleet Command to revive Kahn Noonien Singh. Even if he might be able to find a possibility to successfully fight the pandemic, making ourselves dependent on someone like him is a concept I admit to find deeply disturbing. Yet, the decision has been made and as a Federation officer, I accept it. If Star Fleet Command is in agreement that I am the most qualified to collaborate with him, I will certainly do so to the best of my ability."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Kirked sighed. "Spock, I will only ask this once, and please answer truthfully. And no, don't give me any of that 'Vulcans cannot lie'-shit." Kirk walked up to him until they were standing only a few inches apart. "I am probably no standard, but you see how this whole thing is shaking me. And despite all your aptitude to choose simply not to feel, I know that you are affected by it as well. He broke your emotional control once, and I'm very sure the bastard is very aware of it. He will use this against you if he thinks he will gain any advantage by it. If the two of you will be actually cooperating on this, you will be spending a lot of time with each other in the very confined space of a lab or wherever it is you people work. So I need to know, Spock." A pause, earnest eyes searching his. "Are you truly able to handle this? To handle him?"

It was a question he had not contemplated yet. He was even able to admit to himself that he had been avoiding it. The memory of the complete loss of the governance of his emotions almost six years ago was not a very pleasant one and Spock preferred to examine it only from a certain distance and with a lot of caution. He had been ready to do anything it would have taken to kill Khan during their mad chase through San Francisco, and this mere seeking for vengeance, for the infamous "eye-for-an-eye", was so decidedly beneath everything he knew to be true that it was still difficult for him to accept that it had actually happened…

"Spock?"

"I am sorry, Captain." Closing his eyes briefly, Spock took another moment to gather his thoughts. "While it is certainly true that, regarding past events, working with Kahn under any other circumstances might be…difficult, the current situation doesn't allow any personal affectivity to interfere with necessity. Regarding what is at stake, as well as the possibility that Khan's contribution might be valuable, I am absolutely positive that I am able 'to handle him'. Jim."

Kirk nodded once. "I believe you." With a little smile, he turned and walked over to a small service area. "So it will not be on you if that particular strategy fails. Anyway, the real problem will be to get him to cooperate at all." Pouring a cup of steaming liquid, Kirk raised two questioning eyebrows at his first officer. "Coffee. You want?"

"No, thank you, captain." Spock slowly walked to one of the tall windows that allowed a spectacular view of San Francisco Bay. Kirk had just raised a topic he found just as disturbing as the fact that a breathing and *thinking* Kahn Noonien Singh was currently sitting in a holding cell only a few blocks away from them. "Are you familiar with the course of action Star Fleet Command has already decreed should Khan refuse to cooperate?"

Sipping from his cup, Kirk did not answer immediately. "They plan to take a page of Marcus's book." Spock watched something shift in his captain's face. "And you don't like that."

Spock folded his hands behind his back and straightened a little, but said nothing.

Kirk set his coffee down on shelf beside him. "Spock, you of all people should know that his crew is the only approach that works on him. You used it yourself when you saved the Enterprise from being destroyed by that bastard and …"

"As you summarized correctly, Captain, I reacted to an immediate threat which would have resulted in the death of the entire crew of the Enterprise. I did *not* make a man choose between losing seventy-two beloved people and turning into an instrument to serve my needs." Surprised by the firmness he had interrupted Kirk with, Spock forced himself to calm down. "I cannot approve this strategy. It is unethical and will ultimately result in making an even more determined enemy. "

Kirk looked at him, incredulous. "Spock, there is a very immediate threat here as well with even more lives at stake! And as uncomfortable as we might be with it, there is an option of rising the chances to save those not yet dead - and all you can think about is another ethic lecture!"

"Captain, I am not…"

"Of course you are! And you know what? It reminds me very much of a similar argument a little more than five years ago when my first officer reminded me of how immoral it was to kill a man without trial. And do I have to actually tell you how that ended? The very same first officer chased said man through half of San Francisco and had to be stopped from smashing his brains in! But it's good to know that this time around you're 'absolutely positive that you will be able to handle him'!"

The disciplined Vulcan part of his mind detachedly registered the aggressiveness in Kirk's voice and stance, connected it with the captain's general tetchiness since he had learned about Khan and told him firmly that the offence had not been intentional. Still, Kirk had managed to touch a nerve here, and Spock had no intention of letting this absurd situation continue.

Khan had not even physically re-entered their lives yet.

But already, he had them fighting.

"I probably have underestimated the severity of your currently compromised composure, Captain." It didn't take more than eleven steps to reach the door, which swished open at his direct approach. "I apologize for not having been more observant. I should have realized that a discussion of this particular topic was not appropriate at this time."

He more sensed than heard Kirk's sigh behind him. "Spock, I'm sorry. That outburst was uncalled for."

Already standing in the open door, Spock turned around one more time. "On the contrary, Captain. It was quite understandable, given the circumstances. I should not have pushed the point and am therefore responsible for the outcome." He nodded a slight good-bye. "I suppose we will see each other tomorrow morning at the meeting preceding Admiral Santiago's first confrontation with Khan."

"Spock, listen, I…"

The rest of the sentence was cut off by the closing door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

He had known it would be soon. Had read it from the way they moved around him, which had grown even more cautious, had heard it in the way they talked to him, which had grown more clipped and aggressive. He had seen it in the way they looked at each other, which they did with a frequency and obviousness that would have alarmed their superiors had they been present. The air was thick with tension, but with every minute the nervousness of his guards became more tangible, his calmness deepened.

So it was to be today.

As good a day as any.

The night had been better than the day before. They had switched off the glaring lights eventually, leaving on only a soft glow from the floor directly behind the security barrier. The dimmed illumination had actually made him comfortable enough to will himself into a few hours of sleep, which had done wonders. Though he had not been able yet to completely shake off the slight but persistent stiffness still lingering in his muscles (in line with expectations, given the confined space of his holding cell which did not allow more than pacing six steps in either direction), he felt rested and alert, his self-control which had still been shaky the day before firmly in place and his mind finally clear, keen and working properly again.

So when he heard their footfalls approaching his cell in lockstep, he was ready for them. As ready as he would ever be.

* * *

"You actually know what it is we are asking of you, Commander."

It was not a question. There was neither room nor time for questions. A pandemic was raging across the planet and the probably most dangerous human ever alive was on his way to this very room. The one human who was probably their best hope, too.

So, not a question. But sheer despair.

Since he knew it was expected from him, Spock answered anyway.

"Admiral, I am aware of the desired objective, which can only be finding an effective way to fight the pathogen as fast as possible. There is the contingency that in order to achieve this, cooperation with Khan Noonien Singh might be necessary. I consider myself sufficiently prepared to undertake this task. "

Admiral Santiago regarded him closely. Actually, Spock felt the eyes of all those gathered around the horseshoe-shaped conference table on him. Looking back at the Admiral with an ease that did not mirror his mental status at all, he had the strange impression of being interrogated. Wondering vaguely about Star Fleet Command's motivation to call his suitability into question now of all moments, when the order to transfer Khan from level 17 had already been given, he waited for Santiago to continue.

"As you know, Commander, there are not many people alive anymore who had direct contact with Khan. All of them, though, are currently serving on the Enterprise and were therefore our first choice not only as advisors for this particular venture."

Still unable to penetrate where this was going, Spock did not say anything when the Admiral paused, rose from his chair and stepped to the fully glazed wall which, in its current non-smoked state, admitted the slightly unsettling view of seventy-two straightly lined up cryotubes in the large storage room behind. A view Spock had purposely avoided ever since he had entered the room.

"I am well aware that those of us who have not yet been involved with Khan Noonien Singh cannot even imagine what you actually had to learn about him from very difficult experiences." The admiral turned to look at Spock again, a small smile on his face. "And I am sure you're already wondering what the hell this is all about, am I right, Commander?"

"I was never in any doubt that there are perfectly sound reasons for this digression, Admiral."

The Admiral's smile flashed full force. "Nicely put, Commander. But you are right, of course." Returning to his seat, Santiago continued. "For various reasons, some crew members of the Enterprise do not approve of the decision to bring in Khan at all."

From the corner of one eye, Spock perceived Dr. McCoy shifting in his seat. Interesting. So far, he had not been aware that the doctor had also voiced his doubts openly, and he made a mental note to inform McCoy of his approval whenever there would be time to do so.

"We understand that you are one of those, Commander, as you have implied on several occasions." The Admiral fixed him again with a firm stare Spock was unable to decipher. "Commander, I want you to know that Star Fleet Command is very sensible of these disapprovals and we have weighed pros and cons very carefully. No matter how it might seem to outsiders, there was no light-minded quashing of objections. Yet, our decision stands, and it does so immovably. So all I need to know is whether yours to support this course of action does as well."

A short beep signaled an incoming message. With a slightly irritated sigh, Admiral Santiago pressed his communication PADD.

"Santiago."

"Admiral, the shuttle from the medical section has just arrived."

Spock felt something clench beneath his solar plexus.

"Thank you. Clear their passage and tell them to proceed up here immediately. I want him to spend as little time outside secured areas as possible."

"Admiral."

Focusing entirely on Santiago to distract himself from his physical reaction to the announcement of Khan's arrival, Spock watched the Admiral silencing the PADD with a flick of his hand. Their eyes met.

"They will be here in about five minutes. Captain Kirk, you are dismissed. Please retreat to the observer room, if you wish to watch. Doctor McCoy, I understand that you finished your preparations?"

Kirk rose from his seat to leave the room, swiftly placing one hand on the doctor's shoulder when passing him. Spock watched the emotions race over McCoy's face. Knowing that what was about to come reduced the Hippocratic Oath to absurdity, and knowing the doctor as well, he was almost sympathetic to the obvious conflict McCoy was in with his task. And it wasn't reassuring at all that he himself was not the only one who had to abandon formerly firm believes in the face of desperate necessity.

"Admiral, everything is arranged. We can begin at your command." Even McCoy's voice betrayed his anxiety.

"Thank you, Doctor. Commander Spock." Refocusing, Spock turned back to the Admiral. "In the light of everything being said before, Commander - are you ready for him?"

Inwardly, Spock took a deep, calming breath. On the outside, all he did was inclining his head slightly. "Admiral. As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

The halls they marched him through were deserted. It was clearly a Star Fleet building, though: the interfaces, the emblems, the style of the few decorations were telling an explicit story. Still, he was positive that he didn't know the structure – after all, odds were that it had been rebuilt after he had crushed the "Vengeance" into San …

_Don't go there!_

He forced himself back to the present, concentrating on a vague idea that, based on a few curious impressions he had collected on his way here, had begun to shape in his mind. The decontamination sluices at the exits and entrances of both the buildings they had left and entered had definitely not been Star Fleet security standard when he had been revived last time. The streets and plazas he had caught short glimpses of seemed just as strangely abandoned as the corridors they were just passing, and there was a distinct, aggressive smell of some antiseptic agent wafting through the entire building.

Interesting.

Knowing how dangerous prematurely jumping to conclusions could be, he deliberately refrained from forming a fixed opinion. He allowed himself the luxury of a well-founded suspicion, though…

The first two of his guards stopped. Framed by the rest of them, he came to a sudden halt in front of a non-descript door. A communication panel was touched in a swift series of light taps and the security laser beams he was already acquainted with swept a structure scan over both faces of the leading guards. He sensed the nervousness of the others increase with the duration of the procedure, noted how phasers were gripped more tightly, how the human circle around him marginally constricted. Inhaling slowly, he let the calmness that had been building inside him for hours wash through him in cool, soothing waves.

The door opened.

* * *

His presence seemed to commandeer the room immediately. Like water, fluid and incompressible, it flooded the space until it filled it up to the very last corner. Though almost concealed by eight security officers who had been chosen for their rather impressive heights and evident physical shape, though hands heavily cuffed on his back, though clad in rather unflattering medical section attire, he somehow managed to instantly dominate the scene.

And from the sounds of the uncomfortable shifting along the table, Spock could tell he wasn't the only one who had perceived the atmospheric shift Khan's entrance had triggered.

Having marched him right in front of the u-shaped table, the guards stepped back. Phasers at the ready and assuring a clear line of fire if necessary, four of them took position at the door and two retreated to each wall to the left and right. Behind one of which, now hidden behind perfectly smoked glass, seventy-two cryotubes were stored, their occupants ignorantly waiting for being forced into the macabre role Star Fleet Command had intended for them.

Spock banished all thoughts about Khan's crew and to what use they would most likely be put very soon by funneling his attention on the man standing before them. Logically, his appearance hadn't changed in the slightest – the object of cryosleep was preservation, after all. The same trim figure that allowed only a glimpse at the brutal strength behind. The same cold, calculating presence and self-assured, eerily calm manner. The same dark hair that fell into familiar, pale, wide-set eyes. Eyes that were now sweeping the men and women at the table with a glance that seemed almost cursory. It didn't linger on any of them and passed Spock with the same swiftness as it had anyone else. There wasn't the smallest sign of recognition, not even a hint of appreciation neither of their life-and-death-struggle, nor the even deeper connection Spock had made them share then.

Had not his Vulcan half been in tight control of his emotions again ever since that day, he would have registered the slight, indescribable disappointment Khan's disregard elicited.

"Mr. Singh."

Santiago's voice, clear and firm. Spock watched how Khan's cool stare slowly returned to the Admiral, not a muscle moving in the pale face. He approved of Santiago taking the initiative and ending the non-verbal prelude - Khan's mere presence was already engrossing the situation entirely too much.

"It would be an insult to the intellect of everyone present if I wasted any time with polite phrases. So let's skip the 'How-do-you-do's and 'Hope-you-were-able-to-settle-down's. We all know this is no social get-together, so I'll do us a favor and come straight to the point." The Admiral paused and leaned forward, emphasizing every single one of his next words. "You are here because we expect your cooperation in a matter of utmost relevance."

Not a request, but a definite demand then, semantically as well as in inflection – not an approach Spock would have chosen. If Santiago had hoped to deal a blow to Khan's self-restraint, however, he could tell immediately that the Admiral had not been successful. There was neither a verbal nor any other reaction whatsoever. With unblinking eyes, Khan simply held Santiago's gaze.

"Star Fleet Command is aware that the training you received in the 20th century included biological warfare." The Admiral let unmasked disgust color the last two words. "This not only entailed the development of highly effective agents but that of compatible antidotes as well. It is the latter expertise you will contribute to an already highly qualified Federation research unit, and you will unconditionally offer that support on every level and in every way."

No stranger at all to the absolute command of his own facial expression, Spock had to admit that Khan's utterly unmoving countenance was…impressive. In defiance of the Admiral's ongoing challenges, the immobile mask was so perfectly in place that Spock actually flinched inwardly at the sudden sound of a voice he recognized immediately, even though he hadn't heard it in almost six years. Soft and low. Unflawed modulation. Every single syllable distinctly articulated.

"You seem to have unlimited knowledge about me at your command…" Khan's eyes pointedly flicked to the insignia on the right shoulder of Santiago's uniform. "…Admiral. I confess that I, on the other hand, am still woefully ignorant regarding this entire situation." When he continued after a tiny pause, his tone of voice had grown slightly colder. "To begin with, you could enlighten me as to who it actually is I am currently talking to."

With three sentences Kahn had managed to hijack the conversation – and from the slight flush on the Admiral's cheeks Spock could tell that Santiago was well aware that control was slipping from his grasp. The faint shade of pink was barely visible. Yet, it was there.

And he knew hoping that Khan would miss it would be optimistic to the point of foolishness.

"I didn't expect that names matter to you." Spock had to give Santiago credit. There was nothing in his voice that betrayed any uncertainty at all. "It is Admiral Enrique Santiago, Star Fleet Command. Who is still assuming your unequivocal consent to the course of action that was just depicted. Mr. Singh."

For the first time since he had been marched before them, Khan seemed to have decided to allow himself a perceptible movement. Slightly tilting his head to one side, he subjected Santiago's face to an intent inspection. As if to memorize each and every detail.

"Admiral Santiago." Khan's voice, if that was possible, had grown even softer. "You do assume a great deal."

* * *

_… __and you will unconditionally offer that support on every level and in every way._

A weapon to be wielded. An instrument to be put to use. A gadget to be switched on and off on demand…

He denied himself giving in to the rage he felt begging to be unleashed. Instead, he firmly locked it away to let it simmer until it was time. Knowing that at one particular point in the future, it would make the force he would strike with all the more overpowering. Now, it would only compromise his thinking.

Khan returned his attention to the Admiral who had been giving this extremely transparent performance of being in ascendancy. Not only was Santiago the highest ranking officer in the room and therefore per Star Fleet procedure the one in charge of negotiations and decisions (and thus the most likely source for information). It was also much easier to block out the Vulcan by concentrating on someone else entirely.

Spock's presence had not really surprised him. After McCoy had been put in charge of his medical supervision, he had counted on other crew members of the Enterprise having been brought in on this. Still, actually facing the man responsible for the death of his people had posed a vehement challenge to his self-control. That it had held so far, that neither sorrow nor wrath had yet broken through went to show that he could still rise even above his own expectations. Yet, overworking his mental abilities now of all moments was a risk he would not take.

So Khan had deleted Spock from his perception. For the moment.

His focus was elsewhere. The Admiral's rather pathetic attempts at bullying him into cooperation had put him on his guard like nothing else that had happened so far. It was too crudely done, felt more like an alibi than anything else. His every instinct told him that this was only the opening move to the actual game which had not even begun. That Santiago had already lost his cool after Khan had done nothing but adding his own (and very gentle) provocation to the conversation told him further that self-control was not one of the Admiral's strong suits. So he obviously was at the mercy of an undisciplined man with an agenda - an unhealthy combination at the best of times. Never one to be foolhardy, Khan knew when to take things slow and had therefore phrased his last comment very carefully. Neither consenting to nor refusing anything, it still hung between himself and the Admiral

Who was now leaning back in his seat, apparently having fully regained command of himself.

"And you, Mr. Singh, seem to labor under the impression that you do have a choice in the matter."

Ah. They were getting there. His cool-headedness intensifying with every inch they were closing in on what all this truly was about, Khan exhaled slowly. "Don't I, Admiral?"

Spock had not known Santiago's smile could grow that cold. "You tell me."

The Admiral's fingers flew over the control panel embedded in the table before him. From the corner of his eye, Kahn noticed a change in the optic quality of the wall to his right. Had not all eyes in the room been drawn to it immediately, had not, within a split second, the atmosphere shifted from tense to being strained to bursting point, he would not have turned to look.

But as it was, he did.

* * *

Spock was the only one who looked from the now transparent wall back to Khan soon enough to observe it. The raw emotion on that face usually frozen with self-control was not something he had been prepared for. A few years ago, he had seen those eyes blazing with fury and those features contorted with hate, but those memories from their desperate fight were nothing compared to what had now taken hold of Kahn's expression.

It was over so fast that anyone else but Spock would have sworn to have imagined it. When Santiago and the others returned their attention to the man before them, Khan's impenetrable mask of icy dominance was back in place. And Spock was quite sure that, probably aside from Doctor McCoy, he was the only one who registered the bright cold light in Khan's eyes that had not been there before.

And then, those eyes turned to him.

Kahn's gaze smashed into his with a ferocity Spock had not experienced before. He felt transfixed by its potency, unable to discern anything from it, neither rage, nor disdain, nor relief, nor gratitude. That look didn't carry any identifiable emotions at all, or maybe it carried all of them at once, he couldn't tell. In the back of his head, Spock was aware of Admiral Santiago clarifying who it was still alive in those cryotubes and how it had come to pass that the torpedoes had exploded without their human load, that fateful day on the Vengeance. He heard the voice, yet for all intents and purposes, there was no one else in the room but Khan and himself, locked in yet another combat Spock realized he could not win. So when the incredible intensity with which that gaze had fastened itself upon him became too much, Spock did what he usually never needed to.

He looked away first.

Silence greeted him when he mentally returned to the room, the air seeming to thrum with tension. A quick glance to the other officers at the table told him that no one seemed to have noticed what had just happened – everyone's attention was fixed on Khan who was staring at Admiral Santiago as if his and Spock's eyes had never met.

"Tell me what you want." There was no defeat in Khan's voice, not a trace of submission. Spock doubted that there ever would be. Even now, when all of a sudden, there was something, *someone*, to lose again, the iron grip on his emotions did not fail him.

"I have just explicated…"

"*No*, Admiral!" Khan's words cut off Santiago in midsentence. "What you did was attempting to goad me into falling for your provocations. I think we have moved beyond that stage." Some of the force of the gaze he had just shared with Spock crept into his voice. "Tell me. What you want."

Santiago slowly rose from his chair. Compared with Khan's cold composure, the Admiral suddenly seemed to blaze with emotion.

"Right at this moment, there are tens of thousands dying all over this planet. *Your* planet, Mr. Singh! Pneumonic plague, caused by a strain of _Yersinia pestis_ which is apparently resistant to all antibiotic agents or any other control methods we were so far able to think of." Spock couldn't help the involuntary jerk he gave when Santiago suddenly left his place at the table. Approaching Khan had been strictly tabooed by any security advisor involved on the matter and he could tell by the motion running through the line of guards that they disagreed with the Admiral's surprising action as much he did himself. Yet, undermining Santiago's authority by openly questioning him now was not an option either. So all Spock did was watch, every muscle in attendance.

A few feet away from Khan, Santiago came to a halt, almost spitting his next word in the other man's face. "The suffering is beyond description. The death toll is rising with every day and we are not one step closer to finding a way to stop it. But you, you don't care about that a bit. You still think this entire affair doesn't affect you at all. Well, Mr. Singh. This is exactly what is going to change. Very soon."

Spock could see Khan's gaze darken. The only sign that he was completely aware of Santiago's next move which would, once more, turn his people into seventy-two weapons to be used against him.

The Admiral turned and walked back to his seat, gesturing to the transparent wall as he went. "Two hours ago, one of your crew members was submitted to the same de-freezing process you underwent a few days ago. He is now in limbo between cryosleep and being awake and we are keeping him that way. There's measurable brain activity, a heartbeat and therefore an active systemic circulation."

Khan's head had lowered a fraction, his stare still firmly fixed on Santiago from under his fringe.

"You should take a look, Mr. Singh. Right there, the first cryotube in the left row."

For a few seconds nobody moved. Then, slowly, as if pulled against his will, Khan turned his head to the right, his eyes focusing on the point in the storage room Santiago had indicated. His nostrils flared and his ribcage visibly extended with a deep intake of breath. Yet, his face remained motionless.

The Admiral had reached his place at the table, but didn't sit down. "This man is currently one of the most intensely monitored medical cases in San Francisco. As you see, there is an assistant available for following our every instruction even now. What you cannot see, and I will therefore tell you, is that the hyposyringe lying next to the open tube is loaded." Santiago waited until Khan's eyes had left the face of the unconscious man and flickered to the table beside his head, before going on in a chilling voice. "It is loaded with a highly concentrated, pure sample of the antibiotic-resistant _Yersinia pestis_."

Khan's head snapped around. Spock was by no means an expert when it came to emotions, but not even he could miss the mixture of disbelieving horror and abysmal loathing in those eyes.

So Khan's inhuman self-command was suffering the first cracks.

Whether Santiago was aware of that or not, Spock couldn't say, yet the Admiral continued: "This sample was amplified to make sure to infect an organism with even your remarkable immune system. Oh yes, we know you can contract it. We also know the necessary concentration. We know because the first thing we did after your blood was sufficiently thawed was to test it as a possible remedy while we kept you in an induced coma. Unfortunately, it didn't work, or we could have saved ourselves the trouble of this pleasant meeting today. Still, we took advantage of the opportunity and did some rather remarkable experiments on that blood of yours. The concentration of _Yersinia_ in that hyposyringe is five times as high as necessary for infecting you and your kind. A circumstance I would be only too delighted to demonstrate."

Lifting his right hand, Santiago nodded in the direction of the wall. The medical assistant behind it picked up the hyposyringe.

Instantly, each muscle of Kahn's body tensed up to breaking point. Both of his hands had closed into white-knuckled fists, and his cervical veins were bulging. The longer Spock was watching, the less he could tolerate the sight, though he was unable to justify the growing need to avert his eyes. When it finally became too much and he had to look away, his gaze fell on Dr. McCoy, who was staring at some point on the table before him. His face showing signs of a similar struggle as Khan's entire body did.

A word finished it all. It was a small one only, uttered in a very quiet, but unwavering voice. "Stop."

Admiral Santiago regarded Khan for a few moments before he spoke. "I'm afraid I didn't hear you, Mr. Singh."

Khan's voice did not grow louder. "I *will* cooperate. Stop."

An expression of fierce determination and fury on his face, Santiago planted both of his hands on the table. "But I don't want your cooperation, Mr. Singh." Leaning forward, the Admiral was hurling his words down the room. "I want your unconditional devotion. I want every thought and every heartbeat of yours committed to nothing else but finding an antidote. I want every single cell of your prodigious brain dedicated to this cause every minute of every day. And as it is, I fortunately do have the means to get what I want."

A swiftly lifted finger. An answering nod from the assistant on the other side of the wall.

The hyposyringe emptied its entire load into the neck of a three-hundred years old comatose man.


	4. Chapter 4

Interlude 

His insides were still shivering. Even now, back in his holding cell, he had not managed to fully regain control of his emotions. He was aware that it did not show (never would he give them *that*), but behind the impenetrable mask he had been taught to confront the world with ever since he could remember, he'd not been capable yet to keep that emotional turmoil from flaring up again and again.

He resented himself for not being able to. Not getting over this self-indulgent struggle with his own sensitivities was a luxury bordering upon decadence, an attitude he didn't have any tolerance for at the best of times. And right now, he cursed himself for each irrevocably lost minute he was wasting trying to reclaim emotional control.

_Intolerable! _

Almost desperately penetrating the chaotic swirl of feelings, he reached far back and deep down for something unshakable to grab and cling to, for something solid and constant to steady himself. He found it when he finally arrived at the fundaments of the working structures of his mind.

Priorities.

At the heart of every successful maneuver, of every well thought out strategy, lay the ability to triage the musts and the wants. To not lose sight of what needed to be done in favor of the quick and only temporary satisfaction of what he *could* do would bring. It was the very first lesson he had ever learned, the foundation stone that had been laid before the true physical and intellectual training had even begun. It was the one principle everything he thought, decided and did was usually based upon. He had deviated from it only twice in his life.

Both times, the results had been disastrous.

He would not fail a third time. Not here and not now. Planting the undisputably highest priority of the moment firmly in his consciousness, nursing it with every thought and every heartbeat, watching it grow until there was no room for anything else, he gradually managed to force back the anguish that furiously roared through his body. It took him a little longer to silence the rage that was equally strong and even more persistent. But in the end, he had almost completely regained his customary keen clarity of mind, dominated by one single notion.

_Save him. _

So when Khan was finally capable of concentrating all mental efforts on his vast clinical microbiological knowledge, there was only one emotion he had not managed to seize control of.

Bright, aculeated fear.

* * *

Spock still felt numb.

Immediately after the highly unexpected and equally disturbing end of the task force's meeting with Khan, he had accompanied McCoy and Kirk back to the Captain's quarters. He was aware that there wasn't much time; according to the schedule Admiral Santiago had issued, he was supposed to meet with Khan again in ninety minutes already to initiate their 'cooperation'. How something of that kind should be achieved after what they had just witnessed was beyond him.

All three men had not spoken a word yet when they were entering Kirk's apartment. Unsurprisingly, it was McCoy who first broke the silence as soon as the door had swished shut behind them.

"How could he. How *could* he! That was not what we had agreed upon. I was to de-freeze that guy and keep him in a coma to make that nauseating threat of infecting him seem authentic. But that's exactly what it was supposed to be - a threat! I can't believe it. I can't believe what he just did. I mean, Khan had agreed to cooperate, right?"

Kirk rubbed both hands over his face. "You've heard Santiago. He wants much more from him. And he used the only means at his disposal to make that happen."

"Jim, you are not telling me that you approve of this unjustifiable…"

"That's not what I said, Bones! I was simply trying to follow the Admiral's considerations and decisions objectively."

"You honestly think there is a way to regard this *objectively*? A man was deliberately infected with the most dangerous and effective pathogen we currently know, and he will die of it, Jim! No matter what kind of expertise we haven't thought of yet Khan might be able to dig up, he will be too late! There's an incubation time of twenty-four to seventy-two hours, and pneumonic plague is fatal after a few days if it remains untreated. Which it will, because, as you might have noticed, we haven't found an effective antidote yet."

McCoy's eyes were bulging slightly. Spock watched him bending forward, leaning into Kirk's personal space, his voice growing louder. "Santiago just killed a man, Jim. That guy will have maybe a week. But luckily that's not a problem at all! There are still seventy-one more frozen people we can turn into human _Yersinia_-ridden bargaining chips! An acceptable sacrifice, don't you think, considering the billions who will be saved *should* Khan manage to find a remedy? After how many of his people will have died on him? Five? Ten? All of them?"

Inhaling deeply, McCoy threw Kirk one more dark look before he spun on his heel and marched over to the service area. The captain had obviously decided not to answer the doctor but turned to one of the windows overlooking the Bay instead, touching his forehead lightly to the glass. In Spock's opinion, there actually wasn't anything to add to McCoy's rant. It did not happen often, and he would have certainly phrased it a little differently, but in essence he agreed with every single one of McCoy's words. And judging from Kirk's body language as well as his rare silence, the captain was rather shocked as well by Santiago's act. His short attempt at playing devil's advocate notwithstanding.

From his right, Spock heard ice hitting the bottom of some glass, followed by a sloshing sound as liquid was added to it. Drink in hand, McCoy turned back to them. His eyes met Spock's.

"Did you know?"

Though not exactly phrased elaborately, the question was easy enough to understand. From the corner of his perception, he noted the captain pushing away from the window. With the attention of both McCoy and Kirk on himself, Spock took a second before he answered. "No, Doctor. Neither did I know nor had I any reason to suspect or anticipate the Admiral's actions."

Taking a sip of his drink, McCoy nodded. "And what do you think of it?"

Spock was acutely aware of the challenge that was barely hidden behind those words. And not at all willing to rise to it. "Please do clarify, Doctor. Are you referring to the fact that the Admiral did not inform any of us of his true intentions? To the actual act? Or to my thoughts as to how this will affect the collaboration with Khan, which would have been difficult enough as it was?"

McCoy's gaze turned into a glower, his answer into a hiss. "All of the above!"

Ignoring the clearly audible groan from Kirk, Spock fully turned towards McCoy. "I would assume that Admiral Santiago was aware that the step he took today would have encountered not only objection but actual resistance had it been made known, which is why he let as few people in on his plan as possible. A plan I consider beneath any principle of the Federation or Starfleet, as I regard its execution as completely unethical and deeply disturbing."

Spock paused before addressing the third point. "Khan obviously complied very effectively with Admiral Marcus's wishes when he was first revived, even though or because his people were immediately threatened. Considering that, I would assume that he is, in principle, able to put aside instantaneous emotional reactions in favor of the safety of his crew – for a while, at least. How he will react with one of them in imminent mortal danger, however, I am unable to assess."

With a wry smile, McCoy raised his glass to him. "Well, Spock, you are in the interesting position to find out soon enough. Try to live to tell the tale, will you?"

Kirk let out another exasperated sigh. "You are not helping here, Bones."

"The doctor does have a point, Captain." Unfazed by the snort from McCoy's direction, Spock went on. "In light of the current situation, Khan will most probably experience the loss of one of his people very soon. An impending fact he must be aware of, if his knowledge about clinical microbiology is as extensive as Admiral Santiago indicated. We know how Khan reacted on the _Vengeance_ when he was facing the man who had merely threatened him with harming his crew. Now that the harm is actually done, we should appreciate the possibility that he might respond accordingly."

For a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence, neither Kirk nor McCoy did say anything to that. The doctor gloomily inspected his drink, swirling whatever it was with slow, almost careful movements, sending the ice clicking against the glass in regular intervals. Kirk, who had not moved at all, was the first to speak, regarding Spock with a slight frown.

"And as the one assigned to work with him, you will be the first on the receiving end of that response."

He inclined his head in agreement. "That is correct, Captain. And I assume it is also the true reason why I was chosen to act as liaison. Whereas I seriously doubt I'd be able to actually overpower him alone, I might be one of the few who could possibly detain him long enough for reinforcement to interfere."

Spock knew the inevitable answer this would educe from the captain. He didn't have to wait for it at all, either. "I don't like my officers being used as living buffer zones, especially not with the admiralty pulling hidden agendas. Spock, I want you to step down from this, I will not allow…"

"Jim." As…touched as he was somewhere deep inside by the captain's concern, and he hoped the use of his first name would sufficiently express that, Spock was aware that he had to make him see this logically. "I don't think that the situation we are facing allows us the luxury of stepping back from anything. Khan is awake, one of his people has been infected and will very probably die very soon – from the hands of the same organization that held Khan's crew hostage almost six years ago. That is the status quo we cannot change. So, irrespective of the fact that we still hope for him to be of assistance in finding an antidote against _Yersinia_, there are now further aspects we have to factor in regarding the current status of affairs."

Folding his hands behind his back, Spock looked from the Captain to McCoy. Both were watching him wordlessly. The stubbornness verging on defiance on the face of the first was familiar by now and therefore easily identified and very much expected. The acquiescence he read from McCoy's features, on the other hand, came as a surprise, and Spock only recognized it as such when he had already continued speaking.

"It is true that an already highly difficult situation was exacerbated by Admiral Santiago's unexpected act. There is also no guarantee at all that anyone will be able to keep the damage done within manageable limits. It is sure, however, that we need to try and do so to the very best of our abilities, or else the result will be utter chaos. Starfleet wasn't able to regain control of Khan last time he escaped – and then, this planet was not in the grip of a devastating pandemic. Imagine him on a vendetta with the ultimate goal to avenge and free his people *now*, that we are barely able to keep public life from being paralyzed."

Kirk was still watching him intently, but he no longer exuded opposition. The doctor knocked back the rest of his drink almost violently . Surprising Spock again, it was he who voiced the last and probably most difficult of Spock's arguments while glumly resuming the inspection of the melting ice in his now empty glass.

"On top of it all, it was our consent with the Admiral's official plan that made all of this possible in the first place. Yeah, we objected. Sure, we voiced reservations. But in the end, we complied with it, knowing how damn wrong it all was."

Indignation back in his eyes, face, and voice in an instant, Kirk interrupted.

"Now wait a minute. You're not seriously suggesting that we are to blame for this bleeding mess, are you?"

"I'm simply observing the fact that none of us did anything to prevent it. On the contrary, those of us asked to play an active part did not refuse." Spock approved of the doctor's remarkably composed voice. "And you know what? It might even have been my own recap of Khan's behavior right after his awakening that finally triggered Santiago to set his perverted plan into motion – if he ever needed a trigger at all."

Due to his own astonishment, Spock perceived the slow blink and quick shake of the head from Kirk only from the corner of his eye.

"What? I don't…explain, Bones, would you?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the doctor sighed. Interestingly enough, he searched for Spock's eyes before he went on.

"It's not important. I was exhausted, Khan was his usual bugging self, and he irritated the hell out of me. I reported to Santiago accordingly in a very subjective way, indicating my firm conviction that Khan would not play along. It was highly unprofessional and not based on any reliable evidence but my being completely on edge. If Santiago needed any excuse at all for doing what he did, I served it to him with a deep bow and on a bloody silver plate!" McCoy lifted the glass to his mouth again, cursing under his breath when only ice and water hit his lips. "As I said, it's not important."

Spock let the perfect silence that followed McCoy's words linger for a few seconds before he picked up the thread.

"We are therefore in agreement, doctor, that – provided your approval, Captain, and exclusively on account of preventing a very serious situation from sliding into chaos – we will continue our intended roles in this…endeavor?"

He received an immediate silent nod from McCoy. And a not so instant, not so wordless one from Kirk.

"I still don't like this, and I *will* use my right to intervene as your superior officer as soon as I deem it necessary. I also need both of you to be careful – I'm not so sure anymore who of you will be facing the more dangerous aspect on a daily basis, but I *do* know that neither of them is predictable in any way. So just…don't take unnecessary risks, okay?"

"Pot, kettle." McCoy had obviously regained at least some of his composure.

Kirk bestowed a mild glare on the doctor, but left it at that. Spock doubted that he himself would have gotten away that easily, but then he would not have voiced any analogous remark anyway, so the comparison was quite irrelevant. Aside from that, it was not him who felt at least partly responsible for what had happened…was it truly already an hour ago?

He had lost track of time. Inexcusably. Inwardly shaking his head at himself, Spock straightened, mentally already sifting through the route to the medical section, the administrative steps necessary to get clearance, the different tactical approaches he had worked out for his first personal confrontation with Khan.

Which, regarding recent events, were now obsolete anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Spock had been standing in front of the door to the holding cell complex for several minutes already, just out of range of the surveillance system monitoring the cell block section.

He was well aware that he was stalling. Not that this kind of behavior was usually part of his repertoire, quite the opposite. Still, he was ready to confess to himself that the imminent confrontation did indeed trouble him. There was their history that could easily make the cooperation between Khan and himself as volatile as a clash of matter and antimatter. There was the additional fact of Starfleet now being responsible for the impending death of one of Kahn's crew members. There was the point that they still, after all, needed the knowledge Khan apparently had on the field of medical microbiology as well as the man's ingeniousness to make use of what he knew.

But aside from all that and more, Spock still recalled all too clearly Khan's most subtle strategies, impenetrable for outsiders until it was too late. He remembered the inscrutable ability of adapting those strategies to changing circumstances, turning apparent drawbacks into advantages with frightening smoothness. That most disturbing skill to unerringly detect the only possible way out of a virtually dead-end scenario.

And he knew that the basis of all this was an adamant determination, a force of will that was beyond the grasp of most of them in its imperturbability. Set on a target once, it would not swerve until the brilliant mind it drove on and on had reached a solution. And as much as Spock was convinced that finding a way to save his crew member was, at the moment, paramount in all he thought and did, he had watched Khan's glance fix on Admiral Santiago this morning, just before the guards had marched him out of the conference room again, back to the shuttle, back to his holding cell. He had caught Khan's eyes then for one, only one fraction of a second.

And in them, he had read Santiago's death sentence.

Pushing the doubts and unease he should never have allowed to surface anyway to the back of his mind, Spock straightened slightly. His concerns about the threat of history repeating itself had to remain secondary; there were only two essential aspects right now that needed his absolute focus: finding an antidote to stop the pandemic and preventing Khan from turning from ticking time bomb to epic detonation. Preferably, he would be able to attain the one by ensuring the other. And he would start doing so now, to the best of his abilities.

One quick, determined step took him within the detection range of the surveillance system. With a soft chirp, the laser beams came to live and scanned his face, some light turned from red to green. And the door swished open.

He knew it was only a few meters down a brightly lit corridor. After the first six steps, he already caught sight of the first of Khan's guards who snapped to attention immediately. Five more strides, and the control room with the single cell behind it came into full view. Another six steps, and he was close enough to observe the hard, unmoving lines the face of the man it contained was set in. As well as the chilling cold that hit him when Khan slowly lifted his eyes.

He was sitting on the bunk in the right rear corner, elbows resting on his knees, hands crossed at the wrists in front of him. Despite the way his torso was bent forward slightly, he somehow still conveyed the same erectness and pride, the same stoic immobility he always did. Aside from the small lift of his head that had made them lock eyes, Khan still had to move a muscle. There was no blink, not the lightest shift of fingers, no expanding ribcage or lifting shoulder.

Spock was surprised at how much this performance unnerved him. He was by no means an authority on emotions, but after what had happened almost two hours ago, he had expected to be able to detect at least…something in Khan's body language, his facial expression. Some tear in that blank, cold surface, even though he might not have been able to interpret it correctly. The fact that he couldn't only went to show that he obviously still underestimated the other's aptitude to control his emotional display. Vulcan assumption, however unwitting, when facing a human? Possibly. He would do well to constantly remind himself of the possible results of miscalculation where this particular human was concerned.

Mentally slapping himself, Spock called himself to order. There was a task to attend to. People were suffering, dying.

Including Khan's crew member.

It was high time, as he believed they'd put it, to finally get down to what needed to be done.

* * *

Khan had heard him several seconds before the guards even reacted. Where his captain's steps had always rather resembled a march, resounding with purpose and maybe a little too much authority to be the mirror of true confidence, *his* footfalls had always predicated understatement. And still did.

With all of his determination still firmly fixed on the one objective of the moment, Kahn forced himself to smooth out the ragged edges of impatience that were tearing at his composure. He knew very well that rushing things would get him nowhere; he was subject to their plans and schedules and if he wanted to achieve anything, he would have to adjust to whatever modus operandi they had in mind. That didn't mean, though, that he wasn't able to literally hear the hours ticking by that were still left before it would be too late.

The fact that it obviously was the Vulcan who would be the key to finally stop his enforced idleness was a minor detail Khan didn't pay much attention to. Only half a day ago, that would have been different. But the events of the morning had reduced Spock's relevance to the scene as Khan read it to a minor role. At most. Due to the emotional chaos Santiago's actions had hurled him into, Khan's re-evaluation of Spock had been stopped before it had been truly put into motion. The fact that his crew had not died at the hands of the Vulcan was filed away, and that was as far as Khan had let any thoughts of the man enter his consciousness. What had truly happened on the _Enterprise_ and the _Vengeance _was simmering in some far corner of his mind which would gradually, eventually come up with a reformed picture of Spock. Right now, though, what he thought and felt about the Vulcan was just as irrelevant as anything else that did not touch on developing that antidote. So all Khan saw when he watched the Vulcan's approach was the Starfleet representative who had obviously been assigned for the upcoming macabre joint venture.

But when he made eye contact, he saw, if only for a split second, so much more than that.

There had been indecisiveness.

Vacillation.

With his mind snapping to attention, Khan fully focused on that flicker of emotion he had perceived. It wasn't that he was surprised to read anything from Spock at all; there was a human half inside him, one that, as Khan recalled very well, all the Vulcan education and training could not always eliminate. Principally, they were equally matched regarding emotional control, but as he himself cracked from time to time, so did Spock. And here, Khan was very aware of the one immense advantage he had: When it came to recognizing emotions, he easily and definitely outclassed the Vulcan. Not only was he most familiar with his own as well as with the feelings of others, he had also been extensively and successfully trained to detect the slightest emotion leaking from his opponents as well as interpreting them correctly. Moreover, he excelled at putting them to maximum use.

What he read from Spock as the man drew nearer might have been only a sliver of hesitation, the tiniest fraction of doubt. Yet, Khan didn't need more to recognize the conflict the Vulcan obviously found himself in. And the fact that he could not fully keep his feelings inside was a reliable indication that this conflict was immense.

Appreciating the flicker of surprise of his own this realization elicited, Khan had already mentally shifted gears. Through his own struggle with the excruciating fact of the impending death of one of his people, he had not spared a single thought on the possibility that Santiago's act might have induced resentment, even shock, among those of Starfleet who had witnessed it. Regarding the strong moral foundation Vulcan philosophy was based upon, there was a high probability that Spock categorically condemned what had happened earlier today. Not only because the life of a helpless man had been deliberately put on stake. But also because of what that act was supposed to achieve.

Slowly, Khan rose from his sitting position. From the corner of his eye, he registered the slightly rising weapons of his guards as he took a few measured steps towards the security barrier. Coming to a halt at about one meter before he would have set off the proximity alarm he waited, still holding eye contact, until Spock had stopped as well on the other side. Silently watching the Vulcan for another moment, Khan considered the options that might rise from the possible support of Vulcan ethics.

And he was very intent to make full use of it.

Searching his memory, Khan went back a few years, years that had only been days for him. It didn't take him long to find the words with which he finally broke the silence between them.

"Now." Inwardly taking a deep, deliberate breath, he let his voice grow a little softer. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

The lab was located on the same level, only a few doors away from Khan's holding cell. They had made their short way there in complete silence as well as the company of all of the guards. Spock knew that eight men would remain with them at all times, separated from the actual work space of the laboratory by the same sort of security barrier that was part of Khan's cell.

And, as he had anticipated, facing Khan from the other, secure side of the wall had been entirely different from having to share the same confined space with him.

After the barrier had closed behind them, Spock positioned himself at its center, watching how Khan calmly inspected clean benches, working surfaces, data displays, instruments, stored chemicals and the usual general lab equipment. He moved between the tables and shelves with the same self-assurance as he always did, and after working with Starfleet's finest microbiologists for the better part of the past weeks, Spock could tell from how Kahn held pipettes, from the devices he checked, from the machines he switched on by way of trial, that the man definitely knew what he was doing.

Had he allowed it to surface, he would have been surprised at the flicker of hope passing through him at the sight.

"The instruments and computers in this particular room are primed for your finger and voice print, as well as mine." Spock's voice was low and calm. "You will find, though, that the data you'll be able to attain are restricted to a certain security level. Should you deem it necessary to gain further access, you'll have to pass on an according request to me."

Spock was glad he was observing the other closely, or he would have missed the short, wordless nod Khan gave before he wandered back to one of the data screens without looking up even once. Quick and confidently, his fingers moved over the surface, calling up information that scrolled down the screen in columns, intercepted by the occasional figure. Spock knew that the unerring swiftness with which Khan used Starfleet equipment should not surprise him – the weapons and ships the man had designed while being forced working for Marcus were impressive evidence of his profound knowledge of the systems they used. Yet, Spock was ready to admit that the sight and its implications were a little…disquieting.

He didn't have to watch it for long. After not more than half a minute, Kahn's glance left the screen, lifted to meet his. And his voice was as chilling as his eyes. "I am under the impression that the access granted to me is limited to the conclusions of the analyses conducted so far."

It was Spock's turn for a short, wordless nod. He had seen this coming, right from the beginning. The safety concerns of Starfleet Command would not make this easier.

Khan's voice, if possible, had taken on an even colder note. "I am not able to make myself familiar with preliminary considerations, methods or discussions of the past experiments on the pathogen without…passing an according request on to you?"

Perfectly aware that working productively under these circumstances would be extremely difficult for anyone, ridiculously advanced intellect notwithstanding, Spock slightly inclined his head once more. "That is correct."

For the first time since Khan's control had cracked in the face of his infected crew member, Spock witnessed emotion breaking through that cool, unmoving surface. It was nothing more but a deep intake of breath and a clearly audible exhalation. Yet, it was more than enough to convey the fury raging behind those cold eyes when Kahn spoke again.

"And of course my requests won't be granted without you consulting with Starfleet Command first." After the slightest pause Khan continued, cutting off any comment Spock might have had on that statement. "Mr. Spock, I hereby request access to the complete files of any and all analyses and experiments conducted on _Yersinia pestis_ within the past months in order to familiarize myself with the preliminary research on that matter." His voice took on a tone that would have etched glass. "Solely for scientific purposes, of course."

For the third time within the last minutes, Spock found himself nodding. "I am not at liberty to make those data available to you at once, but I'm very confident I will be able to do so within the next thirty minutes."

Because of course he *did* need to confer with Starfleet Command about handing over the requested data, he turned to signal the guards to let him exit, and he did so very quickly. Still he was not fast enough to miss the look of contempt flitting over Khan's face. Contempt so supreme and pure even Spock could not mistake it for anything else.

* * *

It was well past twenty two hundred Earth Time when Spock finally exited the turbo lift to the floor of Kirk's temporary quarters. He was struggling with the unfamiliar sensation of feeling on edge, and the urge to return to his own quarters to have some time to himself was strong and hard to ignore. Yet he knew that he was expected, and that he was very late as well. They had agreed on the necessity to keep each other informed of any further events and developments, so Kirk, McCoy and he himself were to meet here in the Captain's quarters after each of them would have finished with their assigned duties. Nobody was reckless enough to go out these days anymore.

When the door slid open in front of him, he couldn't help but notice the abrupt interruption in the low murmur of voices that wafted towards him from the general direction of the sitting area.

"Spock! About damn time!"

His captain's voice, tinged with something Spock could not quite place. With no intention to let himself being pushed, he calmly stepped through the doorway to where he knew Kirk and McCoy would be waiting for him.

Both were seated at the low table in the middle of the room, clear, colorless, fizzy liquid in high glasses in front of them. From the lack of any distinctive scent, Spock assumed it to actually be plain sparkling water.

"Captain, Doctor. Good evening."

"Would have been a lot better had you informed us in time about your delay instead of keeping us waiting here for hours!"

Spock felt his eyebrows lift at the annoyance that was now clearly detectable in Kirk's words.

Before he was able to react, though, McCoy chimed in, his tone of voice a rather cheerful one.

"You know, Spock, our Captain grew a little anxious here. I *did* try to comfort him, telling him that yes, though we do have the two men probably unsurpassed in controlling their emotions confined together right now, and yes, though both have proven impressively that as soon as they crack, they turn into hardly stoppable, lethal berserks, I was quite sure that we would have heard of it had that particular, happy event taken place tonight."

Spock perceived the words, processed the content, and, when getting nowhere, tried to identify and factor in the subtext. A rather disagreeable task after he had spent the better and extremely trying part of the day in the presence of, to his mind, the most dangerous man currently alive. He did his best, though, if only because he regarded the two men in front of him as friends.

The result he arrived at was, in retrospect, not exactly surprising.

"You were worried."

Kirk's exasperated snort was almost drowned out by McCoy's angry words, now bare of any cheerfulness whatsoever.

"Damn right we were!"

Allowing their reproachful, infuriated glances daring him to answer for a few moments, Spock debated with himself whether to simply let them know about the sheer impossibility of keeping them informed of his every move while dealing with Khan and leave again for a good night's sleep. He had not calculated on the necessity to defend himself for doing what was expected of him, at least not to these two men of all people. On the contrary.

And because after the day he had had, he didn't feel up to self-justification or to any conflict whatsoever, Spock, for once, deliberately chose the line of least resistance.

"I apologize for having been the reason for any concern on your side. In order to avoid resembling future situations, I will see to it that you'll be briefed about my coming dealings with Kahn as completely as possible." Unable to keep the cool formality from his voice he usually reserved for putting distance between himself and his dialog partner, he presented a suggestion his quick thinking had already come up with. "I believe this task might be delegated to one of the guards. They will be informed accordingly tomorrow, if that is acceptable for you."

During the silence that followed, Spock became acutely aware of the fact that he was still standing in front of them, feeling more like a rebuked cadet with every moment that passed. He realized that his own posture had taken on a degree of stiffness he had been sure to have overcome during the years they had spent together in deep space and…

"Jesus, Spock." Interrupting Spock's rather unpleasant musings, Kirk patted the vacant seat to his right. "Sit down and have a drink, will you? You just got us a little anxious, that's all; it's been kind of a wild day for all of us."

Very aware that Kirk had neither declined nor accepted the offer of more detailed information he just had made, Spock stared at his captain for the fraction of second before he closed the distance between his current position and the table, carefully lowering himself to the rather low-slung surface of the seat Kirk had indicated. Another moment of hesitation, in which he decided that Kirk's invitation to sit had been some kind of olive branch, and he reached for the spare glass, filled it from the almost empty pitcher and took one measured sip.

He had been right. Sparkling water.

Maybe there would be time to think about the implications of that particular fact later.

"So." It was McCoy who picked up the so far rather halting conversation, contributing his share to easing the tension. "How is the homicidal mastermind doing?"

Taking another sip from his glass, Spock got his thoughts lined up, smoothly switching to reporting mode to give them a full and detailed account of this day's confrontation between Khan and himself.

He had to give them credit. They were listening attentively, didn't interrupt him once, didn't ask for the obvious when he had finished. In fact, nobody spoke or moved at all for quite some time after he had finished.

When Kirk finally leant back in his seat, shaking his head slightly. Spock knew that the discussion was about to begin.

"He didn't ask for his man once?"

"That is correct, Captain. Since he very clearly *is* as adept at medical microbiology as Admiral Santiago indicated, he definitely knows about the incubation period and stages of infection of pneumonic plague. He therefore might not deem it necessary to waste time asking for information." Spock poured himself another glass of water. "In fact, misspent time is very obviously the thing that currently concerns him most."

"Well, hard to hold that against him, is it?" The hint of empathy in McCoy's voice was a rather uncharacteristical streak when it came to anything concerning Khan. "As it is, I do have information on that particular subject."

Since Kirk did not give the slightest sign of surprise, Spock concluded that the two of them had already exchanged news before he had arrived. Looking quickly from one to the other, he sat his glass back on the table and fully turned towards McCoy. "I take it this information could be relevant, Doctor."

"I should hope so, it took me several hours of hard persuading, after all, and Admiral Santiago is not exactly open to influence. I won't bore you with details, since you won't be able to appreciate my negotiation tactics anyway, but the bottom line is: I was allowed to put Khan's crew member in a kind of semi-cryosleep, meaning I lowered his body temperature considerably. His bodily functions are still intact and running, but at a very low speed. This and the decreased ambient temperature should also distinctly decelerate the microorganism's activity, though I can't tell you for the life of me how much time exactly this will buy that man." McCoy leant forward, eyes and voice perfectly sober. "I'm very aware, though, that it is only you who can judge if and when clueing Khan in on this could make all the difference. So I thought, you know, better keep you in the loop."

Mechanically, Spock felt himself nodding, heard himself thanking McCoy for his effort and the information. His mind, though, was filled with the image of Khan Noonien Sing, eyes glued to the screen of some data unit, who had only begun poring over those studies, analyses and screenings when Spock had finally left him that evening. Who had refused food, had refused being led back to his cell for the night. Who would most certainly not even think of sleep, hearing the life of his man tick away within his head.

Oblivious of the fact that the clock had been reset.


End file.
